


Tough Lessons

by black_hat_with_bells



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M, NC-17, invisibility usage gone awry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-02
Updated: 2011-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-18 21:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/193450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_hat_with_bells/pseuds/black_hat_with_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrequited love never teaches them</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tough Lessons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinemoras09](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sinemoras09).



> for sinemoras09 who requested invisiblesex and there being the sense of this pairing being unrequited.

Sandra didn’t know whose lungs little Lyle had inherited, but whomever they were, she could give them a swift kick. He had stamina too. Unfortunately so did little Claire who darted into the nursery to play with the baby.

“Now sweetie, you have to be very careful. He’s very fragile.”

“I know, I know! Can I hold him, can I?”

Sandra helped show Claire how to hold the baby’s head, and she hovered nearby nervously.

There was a beautiful moment in the yellow sunny room when Claire held her baby brother. Sandra had been so concerned that the little girl would feel like that attention had been taken away. That somehow Claire would know Lyle wasn’t related by blood to her, and then that would start this whole big thing that Sandra just wasn’t ready for.

She’d never feel ready for it. She had already made a promise to treat them both equally. She loved them with all of her heart but she had no idea what life would bring.

“Don’t worry, Lyle. I’ll take care of you forever and evers. We’ll be best friends,” Claire whispered, and Sandra placed a hand to her heart. It truly was a beautiful moment until Lyle started screaming his head off and then Claire started to cry at the perceived rejection.

The days were tough.

She was always on her feet, rushing around the small home. Her hands were so prunny from washing dishes that it was almost painful. She smelled horribly, like sweat, reused clothes, carrot colored spit-up, and baby powder. (hopefully not baby diapers, by the grace of God). Bags were under her eyes from the baby. Landry was building up steadily, and it was like fighting a futile battle.

It would have been worth it if…she still felt like a woman.

Once she had dated a jock during high school. She found out the jocks weren’t her type the hard way. Greg was a good time, he was, and he took her out to bars where they’d fake out the bouncers on their age. She felt so dangerous, adventurous, when she was out there, drinking when she wasn’t supposed to.

That was silly now, and old Greg was pretty stupid now that she found out what having a real man around was like.

Only he had said something illuminating while drunk on night, something she’d never forget.

“Sex changes everything.”

“Oh come on,” Sandra said. “I don’t see why you’re trying to make my first time seem like a crisis. I’m saving that for midlife, a long time aways, thank you very much.”

She was drunk too.

“It really does. It changes you.”

“What kind of changes are we talking about? Will it turn you into Brad Pitt? Then let’s get to it!”

He gave her a look and she shoved his shoulder lightly. “I’m kidding. I think you’re-.”

“I’m not. No way.”

Well. She looked down, feeling like she had been silly when she had really been trying to be fearless. A girl’s first time was scary, frightening.

“I’ll see you as an object,” he muttered. She turned and stared at him.

“We’re not referring to ‘object of affection’, are we?”

“I guess in a way. But a guy can’t help but feel as if he owns a girl afterwards. I mean, that’s yours, you know?”

She didn’t know, and suddenly, in a crowded bar she was feeling all alone. She certainly wasn’t in the mood for anything now.

Sandra didn’t know about the sex. Greg was wrong about that. With Noah, she didn’t feel like an object when she was with him.

Maybe Greg had mixed up the time line, she thought. It wasn’t the sex that did it. It’s what came after sex that did it.

She had finally had a child. Her own, accidently. It was supposed to have been a miracle. Yet she couldn’t blame Lyle for the state of things. When she was given Claire, the most precious little girl in the world…

Well, Claire. Claire who had turned so pale one day, who didn’t eat anything for two days—was that normal, Sandra had asked. Of course it wasn’t normal.

Noah had rushed out with the baby, leaving Sandra to worry herself into a sick numbness, with the pounding of her heart forcing her to rock back and forth. In the end it had been some blood disorder and Claire’s never been sick a day since.

Good god, Noah’s face...

He loved the baby then, and he loved the babies now. He had so much love in him that many people would miss if they didn’t look hard enough.

But…but he was gone so much.

He was gone all the time. He wasn’t here when he was here.

And it wasn’t always the babies.

One night in June, Lyle sleep like a log and Claire had fallen asleep in front of The Little Mermaid, worn out from her sleepover earlier.

Noah had been home all day, and she had expected something. He hadn’t seen her in weeks, touched her in even longer a time.

She had struggled to clean up, put on makeup and a nice slip. She had even had a second to shave her legs finally. Oh god, she had worried about her weight from being in so long, but when she looked in the mirror, she could almost recognize herself.

It was enough. Sandra walked into the bedroom slowly, playfully—to find Noah asleep.

Well, to hell with that. She crept under the covers and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face against his shoulders and wanting, needing to feel him inside of her. She had been so lonely during the day, the noise so silent in its way, like being lost in a foreign country where no one could talk to you as a person. She wanted to be a part of him, to have that feeling of just the ‘two of us’ again.

And then he jerked, and pushed her against the bedpost, holding her down, holding her down with his arm against her neck.

“Noahnoah,” she choked out, struggling. “It’s-it’s me, honey-wak-.”

The look in his eyes—was cold, dissecting like he had found a bug in a jar he wanted to fry.

Then he realized.

“Oh god.” He moved away from her as if afraid. “I—I’m sorry. I…”

They were silent, each afraid to speak, afraid of what came next.

“Bad dream?” she finally offered.

“More like bad day. I’m just on edge.”

“Oh.” She was a horrible wife not to have sensed that mood earlier. He had seemed so jovial before, so warm when he had hugged her earlier. “Oh.”

Sandra got up and went into the bathroom. She didn’t know why. Maybe she wanted to see the red mark, just to make a big of a fuss about it. Noah did follow her, leaning against the doorway. Defensive. Most of the time, those that knowingly did wrong were defensive.

Only problem was she was defensive too.

“You can’t wake someone up out of a dead sleep like that.”

“Well, pardon me for laying besides my husband. It’s a wonder any women are alive if that happens often.”

He looked down, and she felt bad. “I shouldn’t have. I woke you up too quickly…”

“What did you need? Is something wrong?” he asked, trying to make amends. And that question was what made her eyes heat up, and burn from tears.

“Oh nothing. I was just snuggling into the covers. I was going to sleep. I had a long day too.”

He nodded. “I know you did. I have no idea what I’d do without you.”

He did without her for months at a time. Was that normal behavior for a husband? She was a women, she didn’t want to have to be the ‘man’ of the house someday too when he wasn’t around.

But looking at him there in the unflattering fluorescent light, Sandra saw that he was tired too. He had been working so hard to provide for them. What did she really do all day?

So she smiled at him instead. “We’ll always be a team, won’t we? Partners, though this.”

He winced. “Partners,” he said, as if there was another meaning. As if she had flipped on a light of her own. He looked so distant then he changed again. “You’re definitely my favorite partner. You coming back to bed?”

“In a minute.”

She looked into the mirror and saw what he saw. She turned on the faucet and sat down on the edge of the tub where she began to cry.

***

Things got worse before they got better.

Lyle was toddling, getting into trouble. He seemed to have a pronounced fear of the bears from around the world.

Perhaps it had to do with that time Claire had surrounded the baby with all the bears. She hadn’t meant any harm of course, but that would scare anyone who was small.

Claire was getting older and more into the boys in her classroom. They seemed to bully her but Sandra thought it was because she had many admirers. She hoped…it hurt her to see a previously smiling girl unhappy. If she could, she’d protect her from the world but sometimes it seemed like she could barely protect herself. Noah was better in that arena, offering calm and enduring advice.

He was her rock, for them all to hold on to. It didn’t seem fair at times. Her feelings didn’t seem fair.

Sandra’s hurt had become a part of her body, nestled right near her heart. It was as if her heart was squeezed so much with insecurity and fear that she just grew accustomed to the pressure.

She was losing Noah.

To what, or to who, she didn’t know. During a Russian trip overseas, he had called her conscientiously and Sandra had heard a woman’s (wordly, sultry) voice ‘Now what do I have to do to you to get out of this s-‘, and there was a scuffle.

Sandra didn’t ask. Because she knew. It didn’t matter what was taking him away, it was that it was so easy to do. She was losing Noah because the life she had made with him bored him to tears.

When she took him to Claire’s play for the school, and saw Claire’s bright face as one of the fairies, Sandra had turned to gush and found Noah slumped down in his chair. At dinner, it seemed like she was competing against someone infinitely more interesting than a cardboard recitation of dishes and laundry, laundry and dishes.

Sandra had wanted to travel across Europe. She had wanted to speak foreign languages and see the world. No wonder he was bored, she bored herself.

Jean Wilcox, Jackie’s mother, had talked about being involved in a garden club and a dog club.

Picking at the food on her plate, Sandra thought she might try something new to spice things up.

***

Sandra had been at the computer all day, Googling types of dogs that were in desperate need of a home, when Noah came bursting through the door, rushing upstairs.

“Noah? What on earth?”

“I need something from upstairs,” he shouted. Sandra went to close the door that was letting in bugs from the afternoon when another man came in just as she was closing it.

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

“No worries. Happens all the time,” the man said, dressed in a suit similar to her husband. “And you must be the missus.”

Sandra knew what came next, and she was in a sunny good humor to match the day. “I’m sure Noah told you so much about me.”

“Next to nothing, actually.”

To say, she was surprised would be an understatement. “Oh. Then—yes, I’m the missus. My name is Sandra. Noah hasn’t told me about his associates.”

“Names Claude.”

“Is there a last name to that, Claude?”

He seemed to hesitate. “Rains.”

Then Noah was back down the steps in a hurry. “We have a deadline.”

“What a choice of words,” Claude muttered, stepping aside. “Nice to have met you.”

She had a sudden lightening strike of inspiration. “If you two finish with your business early, you’re quite welcome to join us for dinner. I always make a extra.”

Noah, who had been in his own world packing, looked up with a frown.

“I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Claude said carefully.

“Oh you wouldn’t. Would he, Noah?”

“…No. If we finish on time, sure.”

“Good. At least I have something to look forward to.”

They hurried out, and Sandra felt mischievous. Noah had always wanted to keep her in the dark, like there was this big conspiracy about. Well, she’d find out more tonight.

***

The men came back just as she had finished cleaning the kitchen for the rare new company.  
Claire was all cleaned up and Lyle was—well, was clean for as long as he could be. She had worked on looking nice herself for once. Men were men and men would look. If Claude saw her as a woman, then maybe Noah would remember past the blindness of familiarity.

Claude walked in looking like a fish out of water, like he wanted to disappear.

“Make yourself at home,” Sandra said, nodding to him.

“Oh I don’t think you want me to do that. Don’t want anyone to be traumatized.” He seemed to struggle through the words, careful not to look at her. He did look at the pictures curiously, at the decorations in the house. Basically, her plan was a flop. Noah and Claude talked about business in terms she couldn’t understand, and Claire spilt a juice box everywhere.

She was just grateful for it to be over. Noah and the kids were in the den, and she cleaned up the table morosely. Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she almost dropped the glasses she had balanced.

“Just so you don’t think I’m a useless slob,” Claude said, picking up his plate. “Let me help you.”

“That’s so thoughtful of you,” Sandra said, beaming, and even though things went south, he was sweet, if not a little shy.

“Eh, I just hate being ungrateful. Everyone’s always there for the party but never for the aftermath.”

“True,” Sandra said. “I mean it, this is very nice of you.”

He shrugged, and began to run the dishes under the sink.

“So, how was your business earlier?”

“Ungodly, the moral and mental equivalent to a toxic waste dump…that meant it went pretty well, all things considered.”

“The paper business does seem very stressful,” she said, raising an eyebrow. He nodded, and he wasn’t one for small talk. God, he was making her nervous with his quiet. He washed all the dishes he could and put them neatly in the pantry where she had told him to.

“Well, I’m off. Tell Noah I appreciate it.” And to her surprise, he was willing to go right out the backdoor.

“Wait, wait. I—do you want something to drink before you go?”

He paused at the door. “That’s a first. Usually most people don't even notice I'm there to want me to stay.”

“O-oh,” she whispered, taken aback.

“Too much of my charming company. I suppose I can stay for a drink.”

Claude sat down at the table, fiddling with his sleeves.

“A tough day then,” she said, searching for something to say. Claude smirked, and she could see him mentally debating whether to talk more about it. He yielded to the temptation.

“God, the type of people we have to work with—it’s our luck that they’re the type that never had an ounce of power before they got they fall into our line of work. That breed of people—they are so wrapped up in their collective fairytales of misery and woe that the instant, the instant they think they have the ability to be a bother, they take it, just like that.

Think they deserve compensation, you see.”

“That bad, huh?” Sandra asked lightly.

“It’s always that bad. This type of person is every type of person. It’s just people. It does give the rest of us with those skills a piss poor reputation, you could say. But I’m just talking about our clients. It goes both ways, the salesmen and the suppliers. It gets old.  
…and I just talked your ear off, didn’t I? It'd be nothing you'd care about, or want to hear.”

“I wouldn't say that," Sandra said stiffly, setting down the glass. “Everyone’s job is hard. Or that’s my opinion. I’m just a housewife, but I can see how it affects Noah.”

“I can see it too.”

There was a lull, and she opened her mouth, unsure of what question she was going to ask. Then he was speaking again.

“A housewife is a job,” Claude said. “Tell you right now, I couldn’t do it. Day in and out, putting everyone’s needs before your own. That’s a shit job, and you don’t get to sign out during the day or get paid. I’d be much more of a misanthrope than I am if I were you.”

“I think making people happy is payment enough,” Sandra said. Something about this man was getting under her skin. He was just so blunt, and she couldn’t really stop from answering him.

“Really? Out of the goodness of your heart?” He sounded doubtful. “Seems like the ‘making’ part is where you get your happiness from. It’s the control factor.”

Now—that just went too far.

“You don’t have a lot of faith in other people, do you, Mr. Rains?”

“I don’t have any. Well, there are some exceptions. Your husband has been a decent man. So far.”

“That won’t change,” Sandra said proudly. “Noah is so reliable you could set your watch by him.”

“And you have a lot of faith in other people, I suppose.”

“I try. There’s always a circumstance to how everyone is. Besides, how can they have faith in me if I don’t have faith in them?”

“Question: what if someone were to come in here and threaten you? You know, typical robbery situation. There’s a reason why some types are called bleeding hearts and here’s why. Would you talk to them, sympathize that they didn’t get enough milk in their cheerios, and let them do whatever, or would you do what was necessary?”

“Goodness,” Sandra muttered, horrified at the thought. “I’d hope Noah would be home.”

Claude paused and tilted his head. “You have faith in other people…but none in yourself.”

“Oh for—there’s not a lot to be done. I’d protect my children as much as I could.”

“If they were out, and you were alone, would you put up as much of a fight?”

“You bet,” Sandra said. “I’d feed them some of my cooking. That should do the trick.”

The tense bubble popped, and they both burst out laughing. “You’re an interesting woman. I can see why you’re his well-kept secret.”

“Do you have any well-kept secrets waiting for you after work?” she asked, curious. And then regretted it. How rude. And why did she even care?

He paused. “Not yet. Women tend to see right through me.”

“I feel like that sometimes.” At his look she hurried to clarify. “I mean not with women…or with men! I mean, sometimes it seems like you’re there but you’re not. It’s not a good thing, to feel like you’ll be missed only when you’re gone.”

“And even then,” he said. “It’s a right horrible thing.”

“This might sound a little well…kooky but what do they see when they see through you?”

“Better prospects: the furniture.”

Sandra smiled. “Likewise. It’s like the object.”

“Object? As in objection? I can’t blame you there.”

“No, no. It’s like I’m the vacuum cleaner or the paper towel. I guess your job can be the same way.”

“Not quite.”

She flushed, embarrassed. “I told you it was out-there.”

“I get you. But I prefer a paper towel to say, a diamond.”

Sandra almost fell out of her chair. “What? I—what?”

“Those things are home. And more useful. I could write a map on a paper towel, when I’m lost and need to find my way back. Can’t do that with a diamond.”

“You could also blow your nose on it.”

“Now, that’d be dumb of me, to ruin my own map.”

She shook her head, covering her mouth with her hand. “Better than a diamond...”

“A diamond will get you mugged and won’t mind switching hands when you’re a bleeding lump on the ground. Trust me.”

“You’ve been mugged?”

“I didn’t say which side of that exchange I was on.”

He winked at her, and she laughed, oddly charmed. “A man of mystery and danger then."

“Keep the mystery, leave the danger. The analogy though…”

“Is weak? Out there?”

“Obnoxious. But good thing for all involved you are neither a vacuum cleaner, paper towel, or a diamond.

You’re a person. And no one has the right to make you feel otherwise.”

Sandra should hurry to say that no one had made her feel that way, that she was just being whimsical, thinking out-loud after a hard day, but the words were caught in her throat. She didn’t seem to be able to move under his gaze. He saw through her in a different way, and it scared her. She couldn’t decide, however, if it was her sudden transparency or her feelings towards it. She suddenly realized their hands were quite close.

Noah opened the door. “Everything all right in here?”

“Smashing,” Claude muttered. “I was just about to let myself out. The kids need to sleep right?”

“Right,” Noah said, wary. She had no idea why.

She saw Claude to the door. “Take care of yourself,” he said, taking her hand as a way of goodbye. It was a half handshake, half something else.

“While I’m doing that, you have to promise…” She looked over her shoulder, at Noah in the den. “To take care of my husband.”

He gave her a long look she couldn’t decipher. “Sounds fair enough.”

Then he left, getting into his own Company issued car and driving away into the night. She watched after him.

***

During the years, Claude would come by for dinner.

He'd sometimes come by during the day when Noah wasn’t home. Sandra didn’t say anything to encourage or dissuade. Of course she had to dress a little nicer, get up a little earlier in the mornings for someone, but that’s the only change there was.

Only.

Claude still didn’t talk all that much but unlike the stringent silences before, it felt comfortable, companionable. She didn’t feel the urge to blabber to seem interesting: it wasn’t necessary for him.

He’d knock on the door, say he was in the neighborhood, and that he wanted to be help, to repay her for her kindness. He said idle hands were a real problem for him, nowadays. Sandra thought he was lonely because surely, the returned favor for free food was paid up by now.

And while she told herself she was letting him in everyday to help, some part of her didn’t feel that terrible loneliness that was so encompassing that she could just disappear.

It was a relief when he came, and she started to look forward to his visits.

At first, he just helped clean up or went to the store for groceries. Little things like that. Claude was straight out afraid of Lyle. Sandra got the sense that he hadn’t dealt with little children often. She took care of that.

When he walked in one day onto the warzone, she thrust the screaming toddler at him. “Hold him, please, while I clean up this mess!”

“Uh I’d…I’d be no good at…”

“He’s a baby, not a bomb!”

“Despite evidence to the contrary,” Claude snapped back, motioning to the disaster den, but he took the toddler anyway, looking stiff and nervous. It was the sweetest thing she had ever seen.

She invited him to watch TV with her and the kids, and for a while she got “I don’t watch TV. Bunch of nonsense designed to put you to sleep by the media. Trust me.” Then he finally eased up, and sat next to her, with his arms crossed defiantly. She could tell he was getting into the storylines of the drama on the television too. It was so adorable.

And then she started to notice little things, like the warmth of his body next to her or his eyes when he did actually smile…his smile was absolutely charming and made her heart flutter a little it was so nice (when he actually smiled, key words again). Heck, she even got him to go outside. To movies, to restaurants, the park.

“I’m better off where I was,” Claude said, looking at the kids hanging from the playroom next door at the most recent restaurant. “Oh a nice line much like the slaughter house-.”

Sandra elbowed Claude swiftly in the side.

“What’s a slaughter house mommy?” Claire asked.

“It’s where they make your shoes.”

“Wow! Can we go sometime?”

“No,” Sandra said, glaring at Claude who got the message. But he charmed her later. He always did that. Claire didn’t get the toy she wanted, a little pony, and suddenly he sat down again with that exact toy.

“Where did you get that?”

“From somewhere.”

“THANK YOU,” Claire cried out, hugging his arm.

“Yeah, yeah, just play with the pon…I mean, the toy.”

He wasn’t that gruff a guy when one got to know him.

And then she started to get more comfortable with him than her own husband, started to feel more real with him than with Noah. It had happened so slowly and surely Sandra was almost shocked when she realized it, seeing him outside with the kids, looking aloof but more there…

She didn’t know what to do.

Then she didn’t have to know at all.

They were in the kitchen after one of their dinners when he put up the plates, braced himself against the counter, and told her that he wouldn’t be able to come around as much.

“What, why? Did I do something wrong?” she blustered out, flustered.

“Oh for—my leaving has nothing to do with you.”

Sandra winced, and his face softened. “I mean—I’m so bad at this. I’m…I’m sorry.”

“But why?”

“Things aren’t working out at work. I’m thinking about disappearing for a little while.”

“Does Noah know?”

“Not yet.”

There was something very wrong with the fact that he would tell her instead of his business partner.

“Oh.”

“’Oh’? That’s it? That’s all you have to contribute?”

“It’s a shame. The kids will miss you,” Sandra said, looking down.

He scoffed, looking at the ceiling, his jaw clenched. She was so afraid to say more but she was starting to ramble again. “But I’m…I’m going to admit I’m confused. What does relocating have to do with not visiting? Noah won’t hold it against you if you get another job, he’s not that kind of person.”

“You don’t even have the slightest clue what kind of person he is. And if you did once, I doubt you’d remember.” There was something dangerous lurking in his voice, and it sprung her into retaliation.

She bristled and turned to face him. “I know him better than you. I’ve lived with him, I've loved him. I’m his wife,” she brandished the word like a sword.

“That’s why I’m not gone yet. Don’t you get it? I would have vanished weeks ago if it wasn’t for the family. It's not the leaving you're responsible for, it's...well, figure it out!”

“Why did you come around so much in the first place?” If you were just going to leave, Sandra thought.

“I...you make me worry about you, all right.”

“I don’t need your ‘worry’,” Sandra said, getting angry, her hands shaking. “You’re the same as Noah, always treating me like I’m so fra-.”

“I’m nothing like Noah,” he ground out, hitting his hand on the counter. ”I don’t think of you like that one little bit. That’s on you. That’s how you think of yourself. And what we have is nothing…good Christ. I can’t believe this. I didn't expect this from a down-to-earth woman like you. This typical, sentimental bullshit.”

That cut deep.

“If you’re nothing like Noah, why beat around the bush? Spit it out, tell me how you really feel. Don’t hide from the consequences!”

“Hell, I might even care about you,” Claude said, his normal apathetic demeanor contorting in anger. “There, I said it. Happy now?! You’ve gone and…ruined it.”

And just like that, he was gone, out the backdoor, leaving her open mouthed and stunned.  
And then two days later, Noah told her that Claude and he had had a parting of ways, dissolving their partnership over a discussion.

Sandra didn’t ask.

***

Three weeks went by, and Claude remained true to his word.

She didn’t see hide or hair of that man. Of course. He had been Noah’s friend, his colleague. He had been just being polite to her, is all.

“Aren’t they precious?” Jean cooed into her ear on the playground and she broke out of her thoughts.

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?”

Claire and Jackie were in a swinging competition, and she was rather proud that her daughter was letting Jackie win. She had seen how…well, reckless Claire had a tendency to be, but it was nice, to let someone else have something now and again. It meant she was doing a good job, somewhere along the line.

“I know this is silly, but I always wonder about the future. What will my child be? A doctor, lawyer, will she get married, will she have children?...And then I’m afraid,” Jean said.

Sandra glanced sideways at the other woman, understanding completely.

“It’s better just to think of the present. That kind of thinking—well, we could think about it all day but what comes, comes.”

“I know. Sandra…are you feeling all right? You seem so quiet lately. Down.”

“I’m tired, is all. Lyle’s a little firecracker.”

“If you want, I can take him along with the girls this afternoon to the recital. I don’t mind.”

Sandra wanted to protest because she didn’t need help or pity. She wasn’t fragile, damnit. Then she remembered it anew, a movie in front of her eyes, and she cracked a little. But how could she explain her feelings about another man when she had her ring on her finger? There wasn’t anything wrong with her feelings, mind you, it was natural. It was just….tiresome to explain. Even thinking of explaining it made her exhausted.

“Could you? I’d be so grateful. I promise, I'll do double shifts next week.”

“It’s no problem,” Jean said. “We all have those days we need some time to ourselves.”

A day to herself. By noon, she was bored stiff and didn’t know what to do with herself. Sandra sat on the couch with her legs underneath her, not watching the TV on in front of her, lost in thought. She wasn’t going to cry. It didn’t matter, she didn’t think she could. At age fifteen, she didn’t think this would be her life. An ungrateful thought, but it was her thoughts.

No wonder Noah stayed so far away. She was a horrible person, to not appreciate what she had. No wonder Claude got sick of her friendship. What friendship? She was cardboard, she didn’t even have a hobby except for these stupid shows on this stupid TV.

Sandra went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of the hardest liquor they had: which wasn’t very hard but she needed something because her eyes felt like sandpaper and her head hurt.

In mid-sip, that’s when she felt the eyes.

Sandra grew still, calm, as the hair on the back of her neck stood straight up. Just had to play it calm. She turned casually towards the bay window to see---absolutely nobody. Sandra had to laugh at herself, told herself to get a grip because she was an adult and that's what adults do. They kept control of their emotions.

She burst out crying, and had to turn around to turn on the faucet of the sink, not to hear it. Not to let anyone hear even though no one was there. She couldn't stand those wet weak noises when she had so much.

So much.

Later that night, she decided to take her mind off things by cleaning the house. The bay windows had fingerprints on them that she hadn't seen before.

Sandra paused.

***

The feelings of eyes on her did not fade away.

They came in intervals, and not gradual ones. It was like switching on and off a light. That's how she knew she had a peeping Tom.

It was laughable that anyone would peep on an older woman. It was kind of against the point, the principle. Well. There was that power aspect of it all. Only she really couldn't catch this person. It would feel like she was meeting someone's eyes and it'd be air.

She thought about setting up a camera but then she had a better idea. She talked Noah into a motion sensor, and Noah actually didn't find the idea lacking. In fact, he loved it.

Sandra got to test this thing in full motion too. Noah was away as usual, Lyle was upstairs asleep, and Claire was at a school recital practice. Noah was going to pick Claire up, so Sandra had time to wait. And see.

About nine o clock, the motion sensor went off. Sandra looked and saw nothing.

This was insane.

A few weeks after the sensor went off, she didn't feel the eyes. So she took the batteries out of the sensor and checked it everytime, in case Noah caught it.

Sandra really couldn't say why, so she didn't bother to question it.

She just did it. And waited to see.

***

The eyes were back.

And they were back just in time. Sandra wasn't feeling well. Claire had school around the clock, Lyle now had a scheduled routine as well. Noah was at work. No one really said two words at the dinner table, and that was a consuming trend. She was out of her skull with boredom.

So Sandra left the curtains open a little wider. It was her home, her den, and her privacy. If someone looked it, it was, as Claude would say, entirely on them. No fault of her own.

It was getting hotter in the season, and so she didn't feel bad about having less clothes on than normal. Her body, in the mirror, she had her doubts. All the stress of easy living had taken its toll.

But she didn't mind walking downstairs, out fresh from the bathtub, with only a towel around her hair. If someone looked in, well, shame on them. They thought they could just be intimidating, well, she'd show them.

She felt the eyes on the third try, while she vacuumed fresh from the shower (she was showering a lot this time, trying to banish the smell of laundry forever), and felt something in the air, a tension as taut as a wire. Then the feeling faded.

Sandra had scared them off. Oh, how lovely, how flattering.

She retreated back upstairs, turned of the faucets, and wept. (even though no one could hear)

***

The feeling returned, and so she returned to her routine.

On one hand, it was kind of...empowering, taking this power back from this person. On the outside, no one would suspect this of her, mousy, weak Sandra Bennet, just a homemaker. It was a secret she kept greedily to her heart, her own private temple of her real self, of that old girl who skinnydipped, rode shotgun in fast cars, and would have hiked across Europe with just the bag on her back. This was freedom. It rejuvenated her, this knowledge when she talked to others, her husband. They had no idea. (and they never could either)

It was a bit selfish, only what was the harm, with the hot as it was. Her home, her business.

She looked forward to it, and got the timing just right. But she could do more. She could make this a little more exciting, couldn't she? Noah had an exciting life. He got to meet all sorts of people, run all sorts of business meeting even if it was all about paper. He got to see the world while Sandra had stayed at home keeping up her part of the bargain. The deal.

The promise, whatever the hell is was.

The more she thought about it, the more she continued this, the more resentful she began. She bet that he saw people. Women. It was only natural, and it had been because of her hard work, her loyalty that he was even able to. (that woman on the phone, and he ignored it as if it didn't happen. Plastic condescension.)

And even if it wasn't, well--maybe she deserved to be looked at, for having these thoughts. Maybe her unhappiness was starting to stink through her facade of a good mother. Was she even a good mother, to do this? Where did the mother and the woman began, and was there even room for a person?

Someone didn't think she was invisible for god's sake. How could she let that go, how could she...?

Routine was the key and it was the killer.

So one day, she got a little tired while cleaning. She lay across the couch, looking at the open drapes with half-shut eyes. She had had a child. She wasn't sure if she was anything special on the eyes. Sandra felt her eyes burn a little bit, just a little, but she continued, imagining (Both elated and so ashamed)

She felt eyes, but there was no one there. (maybe she was imagining it. Probably. She'd imagine she wasn't imagining then.)

Sandra had started this. She had been nude, and now was on a couch, nude. She had to finish it, couldn't take it back now. So her hands cupped the swell of her breasts, rubbing her nipples, and she closed her eyes (not out of fear but out of the sensation. Of course). Her hands dipped lower and lower across her stomach, and she was surprised. Her stomach was still flat, all things considered, all...life considered, living it and carrying it...and she suddenly had no fear. Her body, her skin, was absolutely all right.

She rubbed her clitoris, and hissed when the darts of pleasure started, continued when that coiling down low in her stomach, began. She slipped one finger inside of herself and started to rock into it, down on it-

All within plain view. (this was so dangerous)

She hadn't done this in forever, and she felt like a woman, like a sexually desirable being. The idea of someone watching, and needing, and wanting, made her feel in control, powerful, because by god, they had to listen to her now.

She touched herself, breathing hard, and when she was done, she was sweaty but in a way she had missed.

She felt the eyes and laid there until it was almost time for Noah to be home.

The light streamed through the windows unfiltered but from the fingerprints.

(and was that a breath misting the pane?)

***

After that, the feeling never came back.

***

Years upon years later, when Sandra finally learned the truth--the hard truth--of it all.

Well she wasn't the only one who had a secret. Only their secrets, Noah's and Claire's rivaled hers. She felt small and pretty helpless, useless. They had their secret language now. Sandra had prided herself on being the 'parent', after staying home all those years.

Oh well. It was what it was.

She felt for Lyle especially but for all she knew, he might have some secrets of his own. Now, he most definitely does if he hadn't before. A person can only be so open for so long, letting flies of self doubt flood in. Of confusion.

All these special people. Meant that Claude must have been special too.

It didn't hit her until after Claire was attacked. She had gone to get some groceries, leaving Claire alone--for only an hour, it was only an hour. She had returned to find her daughter, her smiling bright little girl, on the coffee table with blood dried in streaks down her face. She hadn't been able to protect her. (This was why she wasn't meant to have children, what fate she had cheated.)

She had thought something which scared her cold. Turns out--well, not. Then she had met Claire's real mother, seen the similarities, and didn't know what to do with that. Fire starters, nuclear men, shape-shifters, mind-readers--

And a man who could sneak out of shadows like a monster. (she still did not see her daughter as one of these people)

What next, she had thought when she finally had a chance to, or had to think about it, invisible men?

She hadn't even seen it coming, any of this. But that, she had not. 'I didn't see you there'. 'Happens all the time'. 'Disappearing, see right through me, don't notice...'

Oh god.

***

Sandra pushed it out of her head.

Or everything else pushed him out of her head. It was a good thing because she'd burn up in humiliation. Or she'd not feel a thing about it which might be worse.

After that, she had been separated from her husband for months. He had attacked her again, thought she was Sylar. Married for years, and he couldn't tell the difference. It was a legitimate reason but all Noah's reasons were legitimate.

It just wasn't enough for her. She felt guilty, ungrateful, lied to. She felt like she had let down her kids because being the one to pull the plug on something they thought and needed to be constant in their lives.

She lived still lived in the house, and Lyle had remained with her. Claire had gone off with--both of her fathers living in New York.

That was fine. Noah was closer to Claire in the end, and she had this whole other life, this whole other family she needed to find herself in and get to know. It was more than understandable, so her feelings really shouldn't come into play. She hadn't wanted to feel like she had when Meredith, that other woman, had dis--had died. Claire's biological mother had died. She had felt sorrow for Claire. She should feel more though, shouldn't feel like a threat had been removed.

It was becoming official that she wasn't a good mother or a good person. It had never been something she wanted to face: she preferred dog shows and television at the end of it. She didn't have to face how many people she had let down.

Lyle stayed out of the house more and more, later and later, creating his secrets.

Sandra let him, and didn't look up when the door opened and shut later. It woke her up from her light slumber on the couch. She couldn't find the strength to scold him.

"There's some food in the fridge if you're still hungry."

"Don't mind if I do. I know I'll still be hungry later. I always am."

Sandra turned slowly around, cold. There he was, right behind her. That man who had hurt her daughter, had come into her home with that blonde girl, who...Sylar. Sylar. His dark eyes stared down at her, and she couldn't move a muscle.

"What can you do?" he asked, shrugging. "Do you remember me, Sandra?"

"Get. Get out of my house," she whispered, and it didn't sound like her voice.

"I just remembered...me about five hours ago." He smiled, but looked wounded, on the edge.

"How did you get here? You, you're supposed to be-."

"I flew," he answered. "As to that last part, I'm supposed to be a lot of things. I know, I disappoint myself too. Like now.

I wanted to let you go, you know. I thought about it, and you were just as much as victim of lies and deceit like I was. I wanted you to know the truth about your husband. You made the right choice."

"I'm--." She was about to say she wasn't with Noah anymore but she wasn't going to be unfaithful. She didn't owe this man one thing, and she wasn't going to be cowed.

"But you're still...involved. You're Claire's mother. She fears you dying. I know Claire, I've been inside of her head, and she worries about it. So I've decided to fix that. And with Noah, well, he doesn't deserve you, someone who would love him after knowing what he is.

You must be in such pain, being used like that, living in such a world. I...you have to understand, what they've done. You have to understand they've gone too far, and they weren't supposed to be like me. They weren't.

And you're going to die some day, probably of some painful disease like all parent do, so this will be quick. I promise."

Sandra was thrown against the wall, and she was going to die.

"Don't worry. You won't be afraid for much longer."

Sandra saw the lamp fly towards them, thought it was due to Sylar, thought he'd break the lamp on her face, and then screamed as it broke against Sylar's head. His power pushed her back against the wall as a reaction, and she blacked out.

***

Sandra woke up wrapped in a blanket. She woke up with a presence besides her.

"Hey, hey!" a familiar voice cried out. "Now you decide to fight? Or do I just bring it out in you?"

Sandra stared, disbelieving.

"And you're welcome, by the way. I'll be returning you to your husband and doting family shortly."

"You saved me. You--you."

"I got a message saying you were in danger. I almost didn't trust it. And with a thanks like that, almost taking my head off, I won't repeat that mistake."

This was a different Claude from what she remembered, with a beard and lanky hair. And then she remembered. Everything.

"Where is he?"

"Gone. Came too while I was halfway out the door with you. You're going to have to find a new house."

"...Thank you. You didn't have to do that."

He gave her an ugly look. "Yes I did. You know it. Don't say pointless things."

He stood up off the bed in this dingy gray place, and paused at the door. "I'll get you a drink of water as soon as I can, all right?"

***

Claude did, and she held the cool glass to her lips.

She was wondering a lot of things but she didn't wonder at why he stayed so far away.

"How have you been?"

Claude smiled from his place against the corner of the wall. "I've been. That's enough, and it's fairly obvious to see."

She decided to get right down to the point. "You hate me, don't you?"

"...I risk my neck to save you, from a man who has a reputation of eating brains for fuck's sake, and you're asking me if I hate you. Wonderful."

"That's not an answer. Not really. I know your ability."

"Ah, so he finally fessed up and came clean. I have to say I'm surprised," But he was looking away. Looking down at his hands.

"I found out when that house blew up. I think our insurance is going to drop."

There was a moment of tension, and then, like before, they both laughed. "Yeah, that would be a clue," he agreed.

"But before that," Sandra said, remembering her mind spiraling out of control. "I saw my daughter shot and killed before my eyes while I sat there. Then she got back up. Thank god."

He was quiet.

"You could have come in," Sandra offered. His jaw tightened. She had spoken it outloud, taken it out of the shadows.

"Could I have?!" he asked. "This is what you think of me?"

"If you had been honest, instead of hiding-."

"Well, you looked pretty busy."

Sandra sat up, holding the glass like a bomb. "In my house. On my own time."

He sighed. "I spent so much time thinking about how lousy everyone else was. Then you made me realize I was just as lousy. Or worse. The jury is still out on that."

"I'm separated from Noah."

"But you're still with him. Let's say what it is."

"If I had met you earlier, before-."

"Doubtful. That time in our lives, who we were--was formed from what we had experienced. To say that we would be the same people 'before' would be a lie, and you're too good for that."

"Even after..."

He closed his eyes.

"We aren't the same people now either. Would you agree?"

"That's the only thing I've agreed to in years."

Sandra smiled. "Well. You are different, Mr. Agreeable."

He frowned but not as harshly as before.

***

"Bennet's going to have to settle things for the time being. You're going to have to stay here and rough it out a few more days."

"Why? What's happening?"

"Oh all hell broke loose. What else? Kind of expected, if you ask me."

"Are Claire and Lyle safe?"

"Bennet says he has that more than covered."

"But...they need me-."

"Apparently they don't."

She stood there, clutching at her heart. She had to have faith in Noah but...

"He promised. Bennet does keep his word."

"What did Noah do?" Sandra asked.

"It's more what he didn't do. Precious little of good decisions."

She flared up and didn't speak to him the rest of the day.

***

He slept on the floor, a big grumpy bundle, and it wasn't exactly spring time.

"You're being ridiculous," Sandra said, glaring down at him. A grown man acting like a child: well, every man she's met lately had been the same. She had been tempted to flick dust motes at him (lord knows there was enough of them hanging in the air here).

"And I'm quite satisfied with that."

"You can't be comfortable."

"I've slept in parks. Pigeons wouldn't shut up. It was never a problem until someone tried to sit down. So this, is nothing."

"You'd be sat on but you won't get in this bed with me?"

"That seems to be the gist of it."

"Oh grow up. You've seen it all already," Sandra retorted, grabbing her covers and pulling them tight. If silence could be pale, it would have been snow white.

***

"Look. I want to talk about this."

Claude put his head against the glass. "Then talk. Just do me a favor and pretend I'm not here."

"That sums it up," Sandra muttered, crossing her arms. He really did have pidgeons around this place, outside in this little cage. "But I wouldn't have done it if I had known it was you."

He bent down and got the bird feed out. "Whoever said confession is good for the soul should be burnt to a crisp and then weighed down to sink into the bottom of a sewage tank."

"I would have wanted it to be a bit more...I don't know. I would have wanted you there."

As a person he had once told her that she was.

He paused. "That's great and flowery and all, but that time is past. I couldn't face you now. And despite what phase you're going through with Bennet, this sudden need to tell him to stick it up his ass, you'll regret it afterwards. Maybe that's why you want me, and if we were ever together, I wouldn't want it to be some pathetic angst crap. We couldn't face ourselves."

But that's why he came back. He couldn't let go but he couldn't face it. He couldn't bear that he had to connect to her but couldn't walk away, so he hid and watched her. She was his secret, ironically. She was an invisible double-agent's deep dark secret. She had wanted to be touched, to be looked at in that way, but without the sight, there wasn't anything to feel. It was still hard to grasp, the wrongness of this. Seeing is believing, as they proverbially say, and she didn't believe it.

Now that she knew who it was, she didn't want to be rejected. It was a start it-finish it thing. It was a chapter in her life that she needed to be closed, no matter what. (and he wasn't a bad man. If this could erase that one time of yielding to temptation and want...)

"There's nothing that says we have to face ourselves, let alone each other," Sandra whispered and let him think about it.

***

Sandra felt the weight on the bed shift, and she realized what she was going to do.

Once this chapter closed, what would the next one be like? What if this sex would be the 'object'? But no she didn't think so. 'seeing, believing'. It would be one dark secret. She briefly wondered if this was to get back at Noah, for everything. For all of it. But she searched her heart and didn't see a hint of that there. With Noah, she was a wife and a mother. Had been.

This was different, and hence separate, even in the dark.

This was completely theirs.

She felt a hand entwine in hers, gently through the calloused fingertips, and she knew he didn't want to be seen. This was the only way he could ever be gentle, and this was the first and last time. He couldn't, or wouldn't, go past this tonight. He was still hiding from the consequences, but she felt like she had finally stopped hiding behind idle thoughts and other people.

She felt alive with the chills.

He pulled her flush against her, encircling her with his arms, and she felt his facial hair rub up against her shoulder blade, biting lightly at her neck. Yet it was hestitant, like he hadn't been with someone in awhile (same here).

He pressed against her, and already warmth was coiling in down low.

Sandra watched in fascination as her mother-skin, her older skin, was molded back and forth, seared with fingers as if someone from another time, and place, found her to be a beautiful art piece than an old and used vessel...and couldn't look away, couldn't stop touching least they find something new and exciting. The curve of her breasts were cupped and kneeded (and though her mind sparked fire at disconnect), she forced herself to be still.

The covers were thrown off and she was pushed into the bed. Sandra didn't know where, when the first touch was coming. She could feel him everywhere, the breath dancing on the side of her neck, ghosting over her lips, the scent of him:

He was being a tease, and she couldn't bite back a smile. Then he sat back, and she couldn't see where he was. Sandra waited with anticipation in the cold, barely able to stand it. It was hard to give up the control (something she hadn't known she had been fighting for so hard), but this surrender was a catharsis. Take her. Just take her.

She just wanted to be.

He waited so long that Sandra thought he had chickened out. She painted every foul look on his face.

The lips on her breast surprised her, but the hand pinching her other nipple surprised her more, the feeling diving deep along her side. She arched into the mixed sensation, gasping, and she reached out to grab his shoulder, not hesitating to dig her nails in. She didn't want to be treated dantily, like she couldn't handle anything.

If it was to be cold and impersonal, while being at the same time encompassing and smothering, Sandra wanted the edge. She wanted to see how much she could take, any strength she was capable to finally meet a man on the same level. She wanted to see who she was in nothing. Sex alone, with the impossible, was the only option she had and could possibly come back from.

Claude got the message and he let her dig her nails in and struggle against him while his tongue traced an unpredictable path down her chest to her stomach and then lower. The echoes of her hands against skin disconnected with the absence of skin, and it sent her mind and nerves spiraling.

Then she was being pulled out of bed and pushed against the wall, and his fingers slipped inside of her while her back was rubbed raw. The smell of sex was everywhere and she could drown in it (a woman finally).

She grabbed his shoulders, the pleasure exploding behind her eyes, exploding inside of her, and when the fingers slipped out, teasing her just the more, he slipped inside of her and it was dirty, rough.

Sandra had never had an organism like that in her entire life.

***

This chapter of her life was closed but she kept taking sneak peeks.

She'd wait by the window and feel a hand brush her hair behind her ear, and then the whisper of his breath could come from the other side, followed by a dart of his tongue. And a hand would slip under her shirt.

Other times, he'd circle her. She'd feel him circling her, and she'd wait, the anticipation (excitement) almost better than the act. Her every cell (this place of her soul) was sparking. In the shower, against the wall with just water droplets misting and sliding down along his back, and he was biting harder, fucking her even harder.

And Sandra asked for more and more. Just one last time.

She wanted it to seem almost against her will though she couldn't verbalize that (how could one speak that desire out loud when one can't even think the word). She encouraged him in other ways by racing towards the door during those times when he was all around her, touching her through her shirt. He'd catch her, or he'd met her out in the hall, wrapping her up in his arms despite her kicking, scratching (biting, sometimes hard enough to draw blood) and throwing her back inside where he'd fuck her on the floor, holding her arms above her head.

She loved it when she was on the couch, reading (just looking at this point) one of those cynical books of his, and then someone was drawing circles on her inner thigh.

She loved it when her body was pressed against air, hell, when she was fucked in mid-air, helpless, his hands and tongue and fingers attacking her from every side. One time, he did tie her up, using some rope that hung from the naked pipes in the air. Oh, she had to wait for that one, strung up. She had to beg for that one, twisting, and he’d say ‘You can do a damn sight better than that’ and drift so close, not touching. Finally, she’d feel his lips against her clit, and her body would sing.

Sandra had to trust him for this to work, and she hadn’t trusted in such a long time. It was like falling off a ladder into someone’s arms. Yes she was scared, so scared, but the euphoria after he caught her like she was worth catching was the best high in the world.

But the best times of all was when she truly didn't expect it. When she was yanked off her feet, placed on the table, and taken, the feeling of a man inside of her moving brutally--because she could take it and she wrapped him closer, demanding.

Then she started to play the game another way. She started to sense him like a sixth sense. When his hand would reach out to touch her, she'd grab his wrists and pull him close.

The scent of fear and arousal changed but this time, Claude didn't disappear on her.

***

There were more innocent, playful times where he'd slip an icecube down the back of her shirt, or after putting his ghostly hands in the baking powder, placing his hands right on her ass and squeezing.

Those times Claude did disappear. For hours.

And then he'd be back, pretending that side of him didn't exist. It was another kind of invisibility, or rather where his actual power came from.

After they were together, there were moments when he was the biggest horses' ass in the world. Sometimes he wouldn't lay beside her. Sometimes he would, but invisible. The only time he was visible is when they were just around, listening for news and watching TV. Sandra cooked for him because he looked rail-thin. Invisible, he was there, and seen, he was so far away. It was like two separate worlds and it was too familiar.

He didn't talk that much and unlike before, it wasn't companionable. Only: he was the one who feared being uninteresting or much too interesting. Sandra wondered what she was doing to this man, wondered why she couldn't stop.

She'd always been straightforward on certain matters. It was a discovery, and Sandra, after learning life could be pretty ugly even when you did everything right, took the bad with the good of herself in the familiar fascination. This housewife had secret passages to the secret passages. When he was invisible, was it almost like masturbation (this word she had long associated with teenagers behind closed doors, never a grown woman like herself)?

Considering the sex, what did it say about her? It wasn't cheating, that was for sure, it couldn't possibly be since she had been with a man she could see and knew the difference. Night and day.

One time he asked about protection and Sandra told him that time of her life had passed. He had made the comment 'Good. I don't want lasting-proof.' She stared at him, but refused to back away.

She wasn't going to let him disappear.

***

Sandra caught him.

It was just like out of an action adventure movie, her turning over old boxes.

During one of their runs, she had used an old match to make the fire systems rain down.

"Just what we need: more mold. This is a damn sig-."

"I caught you," Sandra said, grabbing the misting figure. She could almost see his expression.

"I can see that," he said dryly.

Sandra had dreamed about a poetry-sprouting Frenchman. She got a foul-mouthed Englishman.

Only she didn't get him at all.

***

Noah called. The coast was clear.

"Well. Pack your bags. The honeymoon is over."

Claude was pacing back and forth, angry. Sandra sat on the bed. It was the same as when Noah would call while she was daydreaming. It broke just as easy, or easier. It shouldn't have.

"Contrary to what you might think, we are both grownups. You knew what you were getting."

"Yeah, I knew it was a shit-idea."

Sandra paled a little, but kept her chin up. She thought about all she didn't know: of him. Of Noah. Of what Claire was going through. Of what Lyle was enduring. This man, in front of her, she didn't know his life, what he had been through, what had made him shed society like a bad rash.

He wasn't about to say, and it was too late to ask. It'd make it...

"Tonight, how about we...one last time? And let me see you. Let's just-."

"You knew what you were getting. Listen to me. You don't need me, you hear?" Claude said, standing there defiantly. This: stunned her. She didn't know him but she thought she knew him. There were things told in sex, there just was. The sudden pain was nearly unbearable.

"How about just a kiss, then?"

He looked down.

She closed her eyes.

***

Their goodbye was as subtle and drawn-out as a blunt instrument.

Claude took her to the place, the drop-off (that was his exact words). It was a simple little restaurant and seeing people, real people, after the weeks with just him (and not him), made her feel shy and self-conscious. Claude turned to leave.

"Last chance. Now or forever hold your peace," she offered, joking but dead serious.

"One: you said that last time. Two: no thanks, I'll pass."

"Your loss," Sandra said, holding her bag and looking at the traffic.

"I know."

There wasn't a trace of sarcasm. Just resignation. Sandra turned to look again and he was gone.

And gone for good this time.

An hour passed, and Noah rushed up to the door. He went to embrace her, and she moved her bag of clothes Claude had lent her to block his effort.

"I...after what you went through, I swear, I will kill that son of a bitch."

Sandra went cold, looking up in horror. "W-what? He didn't...it wasn't his fault."

"By now, it's Sylar's fault. And mine. I won't let him touch you, or Claire again."

She almost laughed. She hadn't given Sylar a second thought. This would have made her feel guilty. It probably should have, just like carrying home these clothes with Claude's scent or the taste of him. This life was so unreal now.

Sandra gave Noah a smile and walked beside him, though each were in their own world. She'd go right back to it, being a mother.

But she had survived. Despite the pain of Noah, and then Claude, she had survived. Claude might have hurt the worse. Sandra now knew that was why she had done it, because he wouldn't hold back and spare her.

He didn't spare her because he knew what she hadn't: that she could walk away on her own two feet to the next day.

Sandra was so grateful and she'd never forget him for this lesson. (even though it had hurt him, he had taught her...)

Oh, she'd go right back to it, but after finally knowing her own strength, she'd do it right this time around.


End file.
